he also formulated it in a way which manifestly deviated from Luther’s
own. Human co-operation, for instance, plays a part much greater than
with Luther. Unlike Luther, he did not venture to assert plainly
that the gift of faith was the work of God independent of all human
co-operation. Concerning the “law,” too, he put forward a different
opinion, which, however, was not much better than Luther’s.[1151]
In 1530, so says Fr. Loofs, one of the most esteemed Protestant
historians of dogma, “he was no longer merely an interpreter of
Luther’s ideas.”[1152] “Yet he had not yet arrived at a finished
theology of his own even in 1531, when he published the ‘_editio
princeps_’ of the ‘_Augustana_’ and the ‘_Apologia_.’”[1153] One
of the first important products of the change was the Commentary
on Romans which he published in 1532. Then, in 1535, appeared the
revised edition of the “_Loci_,” which, in its new shape, apart from
mere modifications of detail, was to serve as his measure for the
last twenty-five years of his life. “The ‘_Loci_’ of 1535 embody the
distinctive Melanchthonian theology.”[1154]
“Thus, even before the death of Luther, and before altered
circumstances had restricted Melanchthon’s influence, the stamp which
the latter had impressed upon the principles of the Reformation
had already become the heritage of a large circle of evangelical
theologians.”[1155]
Leaving aside the idea of an unconditional Divine predestination,
he spoke in both these works of the “_promissio universalis_” of
salvation. The Holy Ghost—such is his view on the question of
conversion—by means of the “Word” produces faith in those who do not
resist. The human will, which does not reject, but accepts grace,
forms, together with the “Word of God” and the “Holy Ghost,” one of
the three causes (“_tres causæ concurrentes_”) of conversion. It is
really to Luther’s deterministic doctrine that the author of the
“_Loci_” alludes in the 1535 edition: “The Stoics’ ravings about fate
must find no place in the Church.”[1156]
Human co-operation in the work of salvation came to be designated
Synergism. The Protestant historian of dogma mentioned above points
out “that, by his adoption of Synergism, Melanchthon forsook both the
Lutheran tradition and his own earlier standpoint.” The assumption of
an unconditional Divine predestination, such as we find it advocated
by Luther, Zwingli, Bucer, Calvin and others, was here “for the first
time thrown overboard by one of the Protestant leaders.”[1157] The
same author, after commenting on Melanchthon’s new exposition of
justification and the law in relation to the Gospel, declares that
here, too, Melanchthon had exploited “only a part of Luther’s thought
and had distorted some of the most precious truths we owe to the
Reformation.”[1158]
This same charge we not seldom hear brought against Melanchthon by
up-to-date Protestant theologians. In the school of Albert Ritschl it
is, for instance, usual to say that he narrowed the ideas of Luther,
particularly in his conception of faith and of the Church. The truth
is that Melanchthon really did throw overboard certain radical views
which had been cherished by Luther, particularly in his early days.
The faith which is required for salvation he comes more and more to
take as faith in all the articles of revelation, and not so much as
a mere faith and confidence in the forgiveness of sins and personal
salvation; “the first place is accorded no longer to trust but to
doctrine,”[1159] though, as will appear immediately, he did not feel
quite sure of his position. In his conception of the Church, too, he
was more disposed to see “an empirical reality and to insist on its
doctrinal side,”[1160] instead of looking on the Church, as Luther
did, viz. as the “invisible band of all who confess the Gospel.”[1161]
Johannes Haussleiter, the Protestant editor of the Disputations held
under Melanchthon from 1546 onwards, thus feels justified in saying
that, “it was in Melanchthon’s school that the transition was effected
... from a living confession born of faith and moulded with the
assistance of theology, to a firm, hard and rigid law of doctrine....
This, from the point of view of history, spelt retrogression.... If it
was possible for such a thing to occur at Wittenberg one generation
after Luther’s ringing testimony in favour of the freedom of a
Christian Man, what might not be feared for the future?”[1162]
Carl Müller is also at pains to show that it was Melanchthon who
imbued the first generation of theologians—for whose formation he,
rather than Luther, was responsible—with the idea of a Church which
should be the guardian of that “pure doctrine” to be enshrined in
formularies of faith. According to Müller it can never be sufficiently
emphasised that the common idea is all wrong, and that “to Luther
himself the Church never meant a congregation united by outward bonds
or represented by a hierarchy or any other legal constitution, rule or
elaborate creed, but nothing more than a union founded on the Gospel
and its confession”; Luther, according to him, remained “on the whole”
true to his ideal.[1163] How far the words “on the whole” are correct,
will be seen when we come to discuss Luther’s changes of views.[1164]
Melanchthon betrays a certain indecision in his answer to the weighty
question: Which faith is essential for salvation? At one time he takes
this faith, according to the common Lutheran view, as trust in the
mercy of God in Christ, at another, as assent to the whole revealed
Word of God. Of his Disputations, which are the best witnesses we
have to his attitude, the editor says aptly: “He alternates between
two definitions of faith which he seems to consider of equal value,
though to-day the difference between them cannot fail to strike one.
He wavers, and yet he does so quite unconsciously.”[1165] The same
editor also states that all attempts hitherto made to explain this
phenomenon leave something to be desired. He himself makes no such
attempt.
The true explanation, however, is not far to seek.
Melanchthon’s vacillation was the inevitable consequence of a false
doctrinal standpoint. According to the principles of Luther and
Melanchthon, faith, even as a mere assurance of salvation, should of
itself avail to save a man and therefore to make him a member of the
Church. Thus there is no longer any ground to require a preliminary
belief or obedient acceptance of the whole substance of the Word
of God; and yet some acceptance, at least implicit, of the whole
substance of revelation, seems required of everyone who desires to be
a Christian. This explains the efforts of both Luther and Melanchthon
to discover ways and means for the reintroduction of this sort of
faith. Their search was rendered the more difficult by the fact that
here there was a “work” in the most real sense of the word, viz.
willing, humble and cheerful acceptance of the law, and readiness
to accord a firm assent to the truths revealed. The difficulty was
even enhanced because in the last resort an authority is required,
particularly by the unlearned, to formulate the doctrines and to
point out what the true content of revelation is. In point of fact,
however, every external guarantee of this sort had been discarded,
at least theoretically, and no human authority could provide such
an assurance. We seek in vain for a properly established authority
capable of enacting with binding power what has to be believed, now
that Luther and Melanchthon have rejected the idea of a visible Church
and hierarchy, vicariously representing Christ. From this point of
view it is easy to understand Melanchthon’s efforts—illogical though
they were—to erect an edifice of “pure doctrine for all time” and his
fondness for a “firm, hard and rigid law of doctrine.” His perplexity
and wavering were only too natural. What reliable guarantee was
Melanchthon in a position to offer—he who so frequently altered his
teaching—that his own interpretation of Scripture exactly rendered
the Divine Revelation, and thus constituted “pure doctrine” firm
and unassailable? Modern theologians, when they find fault with
Melanchthon for his assumption of authority and for his alteration
of Luther’s teaching, have certainly some justification for their
strictures.[1166]
As a matter of fact, however, Luther, as we shall see below, was every
whit as undecided as Melanchthon as to what was to be understood by
faith. Like his friend, Luther too alternates between faith as an
assurance of salvation and faith as an assent to the whole Word of
God. The only difference is, that, in his earlier years, his views
concerning the freedom of each individual Christian to expound the
Word of God and to determine what belonged to the body of faith, were
much more radical than at a later period.[1167] Hence Melanchthon’s
fondness for a “rigid law of doctrine” was more at variance with
the earlier than with the later Luther. From the later Luther he
differs favourably in this; not being under the necessity of having
to explain away any earlier radical views, he was better able to sum
up more clearly and systematically the essentials of belief, a task,
moreover, which appealed to his natural disposition. Luther’s ideas
on this subject are almost exclusively embodied in polemical writings
written under the stress of great excitement; such statements only too
frequently evince exaggerations of the worst sort, due to the passion
and heat of the moment.
Of special importance was Melanchthon’s opposition to Luther on one
of the most practical points of the Church’s life, viz. the doctrine
of the Supper. At the Table which was intended to be the most sublime
expression of the charity and union prevailing among the faithful,
these two minds differed hopelessly.
It was useless for Luther to assure Melanchthon that the Real Presence
of Christ in the Sacrament was so essential an article of faith that
if a man did not believe in it he believed in no article whatever.
From the commencement of the ‘thirties Melanchthon struck out his own
course and became ever more convinced, that the doctrine of the Real
Presence was not vouched for by the Bible. Once he had gone so far
as to tell the Zwinglians that they had “to fear the punishment of
Heaven” on account of their erroneous doctrine.[1168] After becoming
acquainted with the “_Dialogus_” of [Œcolampadius, published in 1530,
he, however, veered round to a denial of the Sacrament. Yet, with
his superficial rationalism and his misinterpretation of certain
patristic statements, [Œcolampadius had really adduced no peremptory
objection against the general, traditional, literal interpretation of
the words of consecration to which Melanchthon, as well as Luther,
had till then adhered. In view of Melanchthon’s defective theological
education little was needed to bring about an alteration in his
views, particularly when the alteration was in the direction of a
Humanistic softening of hard words, or seemed likely to provide a
basis for conciliation. There was some foundation for his comparison
of himself, in matters of theology, to the donkey in the Palm-Sunday
mystery-play.[1169]
On the question of the Sacrament, the theory of the “Sacramentarians”
came more and more to seem to him the true one.
Owing, however, to his timidity and the fear in which he stood
of Luther, he did not dare to speak out. The “_Loci_” of 1535 is
remarkably obscure in its teaching concerning the Sacrament, whilst, in
a letter to Camerarius of the same year, he speaks of Luther’s view as
“alien” to his own, which, however, he refuses to explain.[1170] Later
the Cologne scheme of 1543 in which Bucer, to Luther’s great annoyance,
evaded the question of the Real Presence, obtained Melanchthon’s
approval. When, in 1540, Melanchthon made public a new edition of the
Confession of Augsburg (“_Confessio variata_”), containing alterations
of greater import than those of the previous editions, the new wording
of the 10th Article was “Melanchthonian” in the sense that it failed to
exclude “the doctrine either of Melanchthon, or of Bucer, or of Calvin
on the Supper.”[1171] It was “Melanchthonian” also in that elasticity
and ambiguity which has since become the model for so many Protestant
formularies. In order to secure a certain outward unity it became usual
to avoid any explicitness which might affright such as happened to have
scruples. A Melanchthonian character was thus imparted to the theology
which, with Melanchthon himself as leader, was to guard the heritage of
Luther.
_Points of Accord between Melanchthon and Luther._
Melanchthon’s religious character naturally exhibits many points of
contact with that of Luther.
Only to a limited extent, however, does this hold good of the “inward
terrors.” Attempts have been made to prove that, like Luther, his more
youthful friend believed he had experienced within him the salutary
working of the new doctrine of Justification.[1172] But, though, in
his “_Apologia_” to the Augsburg Confession and in other writings, he
extols, as we have seen, this doctrine as alone capable of imparting
strength and consolation in times of severe anxiety of conscience
and spiritual desolation, and though he speaks of the “_certamina
conscientiæ_,” and of the assurance of salvation in exactly the same
way that Luther does, still this is no proof of his having experienced
anything of the sort himself. The statements, which might be adduced
in plenty from his private letters, lag very far behind Luther’s
characteristic assurances of his own experience.
Of the enlightenment from on high by which he believed Luther’s divine
mission as well as his own work as a teacher to be the result, of
prayer for their common cause and of the joy in heaven over the work,
labours and persecution they had endured, he can speak in language
as exalted as his master’s, though not with quite the same wealth of
imagination and eloquence. That the Pope is Antichrist he proves from
the Prophet Daniel and other biblical passages, with the same bitter
prejudice and the same painstaking exegesis as Luther. On hearing of
the misshapen monster, alleged to have been found dead in the Tiber
near Rome in 1496, his superstition led him to write a work overflowing
with hatred against the older Church in which in all seriousness he
expounded the meaning of the “Pope-Ass,” and described every part of
its body in detail. This work was published, together with Luther’s
on the Freiberg “Monk-Calf.”[1173] Melanchthon there says: “The
feminine belly and breasts of the monster denote the Pope’s body,
viz. the Cardinals, Bishops, Priests, Monks, Students, and such-like
lascivious folk and gluttonous swine, for their life is nothing but
feeding and swilling, unchastity and luxury.... The fish scales on the
arms, legs, and neck stand for the secular princes and lords” who
“cling to the Pope and his rule,” etc.[1174] This curious pamphlet ran
through a number of editions, nor did Melanchthon ever become aware of
its absurdity. As for Luther, in 1535 he wrote an Appendix, entitled
“Luther’s Amen to the Interpretation of the Pope-Ass,” confirming his
friend’s reading of the portent. “Because the Divine Majesty,” so we
there read, “has Himself created and manifested it [the monstrosity],
the whole world ought rightly to tremble and be horror-struck.”[1175]
In his fondness for the superstitions of astrology Melanchthon went
further than Luther, who refused to believe in the influence of the
planets on man’s destiny, and in the horoscopes on which his companion
set so much store. Both, however, were at one in their acceptance of
other superstitions, notably of diabolical apparitions even of the
strangest kinds.[1176]
On this subject we learn much hitherto unknown from the “_Analecta_,”
published by G. Loesche in 1892.[1177] Melanchthon, for instance,
relates that a doctor at Tübingen “kept the devil in a bottle, as
magicians are wont to do.”[1178] Amsdorf had once heard the devil
grunting. Melanchthon himself had heard a tremendous noise on the roof
of the cathedral at Magdeburg, which was a presage of coming warlike
disturbances; the same portent had been observed at Wittenberg previous
to the besieging of the town.[1179] To what extent people might become
tools of the devil was evident, so he told his students, from the
example of two witches at Berlin, who had murdered a child in order to
raise a snow-storm by means of impious rites, and who were now awaiting
punishment at the hands of the authorities.[1180] It was not, however,
so easy to deal with witches. At Wittenberg one, while undergoing
torture on the rack, had changed herself into a cat and mewed.[1181]
Twelve years previously a ghost had killed a fisherman on the
Elster.[1182] Hence it was necessary to look out for good remedies and
counter-spells against witchcraft. “Where tortoises were to be met with
it was held that neither poison nor magic could work any harm.”[1183]
According to Melanchthon the signs in the heavens must never be
disregarded when studying the times. Two fiery serpents, which had
recently been seen at Eisenberg engaged in a struggle in the sky, were
an infallible presage of “coming war in the Church,” especially as
a fiery cross had shown itself above the serpents.[1184] By careful
calculations he had ascertained that the end of the world, the approach
of which was in any case foretold by the wickedness of men, would take
place before the year 1582.[1185]
His friend Camerarius remarked with annoyance that “many persons had
made notes of Melanchthon’s private conversations and thus affixed a
stigma to his name.”[1186] This complaint reminds us of a drollery,
none too delicate, contained in the “_Analecta_” among the “_Dicta
Melanchthonis_” concerning the flatulence of a monk.[1187] Even the
editor admits that one cannot think very highly of these sayings of
Melanchthon, especially when we remember that the “_Dicta_” were
uttered at lectures which the speaker seemed in the habit of enlivening
with all kinds of examples and vulgarities. He adds, “Our discovery
reveals the very low standard of the lectures then delivered at the
University.”
Loesche also remarks that “these Dicta have contributed to destroy the
legend of Melanchthon’s gentleness and kindliness.”[1188]
In connection with the legend of his kindliness, Loesche refers to
a remark made by Melanchthon, according to the “_Dicta_,” about the
year 1553: “Whoever murders a tyrant, as did those who murdered N.
in Lithuania, offers a holocaust to God.”[1189] Such views regarding
the lawfulness of murdering tyrants he seems to have derived from his
study of the classics. He had, moreover, already given expression to
them long before this, referring to Henry VIII. of England, who had
ceased to favour the Reformation as conducted in Germany. In a letter
to his friend Veit Dietrich he wishes, that God would send a brave
assassin to rid the world of the tyrant.[1190]
Melanchthon was in reality far from tolerant, and in his demands for
the punishment of heretics he went to great lengths. It is generally
known how he gave it as his opinion, in 1557, that the execution of
the Spanish doctor, Michael Servetus, which took place at Geneva in
1553 at the instance of Calvin, was a “pious and memorable example for
posterity.”[1191] He wrote to Calvin, on October 14, 1554, concerning
the proceedings against Servetus, who had denied the Trinity as well
as the divinity of Christ, as follows: “I agree entirely with your
sentence; I also declare that your authorities have acted wisely and
justly in putting this blasphemous man to death.”[1192] When the
severity of the step was blamed by some, he expressed his surprise
at the objectors in a letter of August 20, 1555, to Bullinger at
Zürich, and sent him a little treatise defending and recommending
similar sentences.[1193] He there proves that false doctrines should
be treated as notorious blasphemies, and that the secular authorities
were accordingly bound by the Divine law to punish them with the
utmost severity; Divine chastisements were to be apprehended should
the authorities, out of a false sense of pity, show themselves remiss
in extirpating erroneous doctrines. Such was indeed the teaching
at Wittenberg, as evinced, for instance, by a disputation at the
University, where Melanchthon’s friend and colleague, George Major,
branded the contrary opinion as “impudent and abominable.”[1194]
Characteristic of Melanchthon, though hitherto little noticed,
were the severity and obstinacy with which he sought to carry his
intolerance into practice. He relentlessly called in the assistance of
the secular authorities against the canons of Cologne who had remained
faithful to the religion of their fathers.[1195] As to his opponents
within his own fold he demanded that the rulers should punish them,
particularly the Anabaptists, not merely as sedition-mongers and
rebels, but on account of their doctrinal peculiarities. Their
rejection of infant baptism he regarded as one of those blasphemies
which ought to be punished by death; the denial of original sin and
the theory that the Sacraments were merely signs he looked upon as
similar blasphemies. At least those Anabaptists, “who are the heads
and leaders,” and who refuse to abjure their errors, “should be put
to death by the sword as seditious men and blasphemers.” “Others,
who have been led astray, and who, though not so defiant, refuse to
recant, should be treated as madmen and sent to jail.”[1196]
Of these principles concerning the coercion of both Catholics and
sectarians we have an enduring memorial in Melanchthon’s work dated
1539, and entitled “On the office of Princes.”[1197] Nor did he fail
to incite the Lutheran authorities to adopt, in the interests of
public worship, coercive measures against negligent Protestants: “I
should be pleased were the authorities to make a stringent rule of
driving the people to church, particularly on holidays.”[1198]
His fondness for the use of coercion in furthering his own religious
views is apparent throughout his career, and how congenial it was to
him is clear from the fact that he manifested this leaning at the very
outset of the reforms at Wittenberg, even before Luther had seen his
way to do the same.
As early as October 20, 1521, subsequent to the changes in public
worship which had been effected by the apostate Augustinians supported
by some Wittenberg professors such as Carlstadt, Amsdorf, and Jonas,
Melanchthon in a written admonition told the Elector, that, as a
Christian Prince, he should “make haste to abrogate the abuse of the
Mass” in his country and principality, unmindful of the calumnies to
which this might give rise, “in order that your Electoral Highness
may not, like Capharnaum, be reproached by Christ on the Last Day on
account of the great grace and mercy which, without any work of ours,
has been shown in your Electoral Highness’s lands, the Holy Evangel
being revealed, manifested, and brought to light, and yet all to no
purpose”; God would require at his hands an account for the great
grace of Luther’s mission.[1199]
In this admonition, brimful of the most bitter prejudice, we find for
the first time the principle laid down, that the “salvation of his
soul required of a Christian Prince” the prohibition of the olden
Catholic worship.
In point of fact Melanchthon was frequently ahead of Luther in
carrying the latter’s theories to their logical conclusion, utterly
regardless of rights infringed. Thus, for instance, he was before
Luther in reaching the conclusion that religious vows were invalid.
The conviction and enthusiasm with which, from the very outset,
he took Luther’s side was due, as he repeatedly avers, to motives
of a moral and religious order; he backed up Luther, so he assures
us, because he hoped thereby to promote a reform of morals. “I am
conscious of having taken up the study of theology for no other reason
than to amend our lives.”[1200] What he here states as a young man of
twenty-eight, he made use of to console and encourage himself with
later. What he had in mind was, of course, the ostensibly hopeless
decline of morals under Popery. This he painted in vivid colours
borrowed from Luther, for he himself had never come into any such close
contact with the abuses as would have enabled him to reach a reliable
and independent opinion of his own. Having thoroughly aroused his
hatred of the Papacy and convinced himself of the urgent necessity of
combating the vicious decadence and intellectual darkness brought into
the world by Antichrist, he is wont to depict the ideal of his own
thoughts and efforts; this was the “_disciplina et obedientia populi
Dei_” to be achieved by means of an education at once religious and
Humanistic.
3. Melanchthon at the Zenith of His Career. His Mental Sufferings
Various traits of Melanchthon already alluded to may serve favourably
to impress the unbiassed reader, even though his views be different. We
now proceed to sum these up, supplementing them by a few other details
of a similar nature.
_Favourable Traits._
The many touching and heartfelt complaints concerning the moral
disorders prevalent in the Protestant Churches are peculiar to
Melanchthon. Luther, it is true, also regretted them, but his regret
is harshly expressed and he is disposed to lay the blame on the wrong
shoulders. Melanchthon, with his praiseworthy concern for discipline
and ordered doctrine, was naturally filled with deep misgivings when
the preaching of the Evangel resulted in moral disorder and waywardness
in views and doctrine. This explains why he was so ready to turn to the
authorities to implore their assistance in establishing that stable,
Christian government which was his ideal. (Below, p. 372 f.)
Above all, he was desirous of seeing the foundations of the Empire
and the rights of the Emperor safeguarded, so long as the new Evangel
was not endangered. None of those who thought as he did at Wittenberg
were more anxious lest the religious movement should jeopardise the
peace; in none of them is the sense of responsibility so marked
as in Melanchthon. Being by nature as well as by education less
strong-hearted than Luther, he was not so successful as the latter in
repressing his misery at the consequences of his position. To this his
correspondence, which is full of interest and characteristic of his
moods, is a striking witness.
Yet, amidst all the complaints we find in these letters, we hardly
come across any statement concerning personal troubles of conscience.
As a layman, he had not to reproach himself with any apostasy from the
sacred office of the priesthood. Unlike Luther and his other friends,
from his youth upward his studies and his profession had not been
ecclesiastical. The others had once been religious or priests and had,
by their marriage, violated a strict law of the Church, which was not
the case with him.
His fine mental powers he devoted to the service of Humanism, seeking
to promote the cause of education, particularly at the University of
Wittenberg, but also elsewhere, by his many-sided writings in the
domain of worldly learning and culture. We need only recall his works
on rhetoric and grammar, on the ancient philosophy, more particularly
the Aristotelian, on dialectics, ethics, and psychology. Such works
from his ready but careful pen created for him a great and permanent
field of activity, and at the same time helped to distract him amidst
the sad realities of life and his own bitter experiences. He openly
declared his preference for Humanistic studies, stating that he had
been drawn into the theological controversies quite against his will.
It was to his philosophic mode of thought that he owed the self-control
which he possessed in so remarkable a degree. Often we are put in mind
of the stoic when we hear him, the scholar, giving the soft answer to
the insults heaped on him in his own circle and then quietly proceeding
on his own way. And yet his character was irritable and prone to
passionate anger, as on one occasion some lazy students at the
University learnt to their cost. Hence his moderation in his dealings
with his Wittenberg colleagues is all the more remarkable.
In his family life Melanchthon has been described as a model of
industry, love of order and domesticity. He rose before daybreak
in order to deal with his large correspondence; his letters, full
of sympathy for friends and those who stood in need of help, were
carefully written, and usually couched in Latin. German he did not
write so fluently as Luther. In his Latin letters to Humanist friends
he often drops into Greek, particularly when anxious to conceal
anything, for instance, when he has to complain of Luther. His intimate
and friendly intercourse with kindred spirits, such as Camerarius, is
a pleasing trait in his character; not less so is the benevolence and
unselfishness his letters attest, which indeed he often carried so far
as to deprive himself of the needful. His home life was a happy one
and his children were well brought up, though his son-in-law, Sabinus,
a man of great talent, caused him much grief by his want of conjugal
fidelity, which was a source of scandal to the family and also damaged
the reputation of Wittenberg.
_Melanchthon’s Relations with Luther._
In Melanchthon’s mental history, no less than in the external
circumstances of his life, stands out prominently, his connection with
Luther, of which we have already recounted the beginnings.
The remarkable relations existing between Melanchthon and Luther abound
in psychological traits characteristic of both. So intimate were they
that others of the party were disposed to see in their friendship the
excellent working of the evangelical spirit, the harmony and union of
mind of the two most eminent leaders of the new movement.
To Melanchthon Luther’s higher mission was as good as proved (above
pp. 322, 355). To Capito he declared: “I am convinced that he
carries out his work not merely with prudence but with the best of
consciences, since he appears to have been destined by God for this
purpose; for never could one man carry so many along with him unless
he were animated by the Spirit of God. He has not acted harshly
towards any, save some of the sophists, and even had he done so, we
must remember that in our times a sharp tongue is needed, since he
is the first who has preached the Gospel for a long while. Leave him
to the working of his own spirit and resist not the will of God! This
matter must not be judged by human standards. The Gospel is proclaimed
that it may be an offence to the godless and that the sheep of Israel
may return to their God.”[1201]
Thus Melanchthon in 1521. We may compare the promises Luther held out
to those who were filled with faith to his own happy expectations of
the outcome of his relations with Melanchthon: “There, faith sets
to work with joy and charity,” “to serve others and to be helpful
to them”; the consoling words of St. Paul (Phil. ii. 1 ff.) were
being fulfilled in brotherly unity, “consolation in Christ, comfort
of charity, society of the spirit, bowels of commiseration,” and
the result would be a “free, willing, happy life”; “when the heart
thus hears the voice of Christ, it must be joyful and receive entire
consolation.”[1202]
In Melanchthon’s case, however, these promises were not realised in the
event; on the contrary, inward disappointment and mental suffering were
increasingly to become his portion.
Between 1528 and 1530 he openly admitted that he was burdened with
cares and troubles beyond measure, and only consoled himself with
the thought that the Day of Judgment must be at the door. He was
suffering all the pangs of hell on account of the sights he was forced
to witness, and would much rather die than continue to suffer; the
state of ecclesiastical affairs caused him unspeakable pain, and not
a day passed that he did not long for death.[1203] Complaints such
as these are to be found in his correspondence till the very end of
his life, so that his most recent Protestant biographer speaks of his
letters, more particularly those to Camerarius, as witnessing to the
“anxiety, misery and profound mental suffering” which “consumed him”;
he also alludes to the “wine trodden out with such bitter pain” which
posterity enjoys, thanks to his labours. “Most of these productions
[the letters to Camerarius] it is impossible to read without feeling
the deepest sympathy.” “Even his severest accuser will assuredly be
disarmed when he sees what Melanchthon suffered.”[1204]
At the commencement of the ‘thirties he bewails his “unhappy fate”
which had entangled him in religious disputes,[1205] and, seven years
later, we have this startling confession: “The cruel dolours of soul
which I have endured for three years on end, and the other cares
which each day brings, have wasted me to such an extent that I fear
I cannot live much longer.”[1206] In the next decade we have another
confession to the same effect: “I shall not be sorry to leave this
prison (‘_ergastulum_’) when he [Luther, whom Melanchthon here calls
‘_infestus_’] throws me over.”[1207]
The various stages of his unhappy life, the outward influences under
which he came and many other accompanying circumstances, are now known
from various sources.
As early as 1523 and 1524 Melanchthon began to free himself to some
extent from the spell cast over him by his domineering friend. He was
in the first instance repelled by the coarseness of Luther’s literary
style, and also by much which seemed to him exaggerated in his ways,
more particularly by his denial of free-will. (Above, p. 346 f.) The
sensitive nature of Melanchthon also took offence at certain things
in Luther’s private life, and his own observations were confirmed by
the sharp eyes of his bosom friend Camerarius (Joachim Kammermeister),
who had migrated to Wittenberg in 1522. Their exchange of secret
confidences concerning Wittenberg affairs is unmistakable. Melanchthon
felt very lonely after the departure of Camerarius and missed the
stimulating intellectual intercourse at Wittenberg, which had become a
necessity to him. Frequently he complains, even as early as 1524, that
he met with no sympathy, and sometimes he does not exclude even Luther.
At Wittenberg he felt like a lame cobbler.[1208] “There is no one
amongst my comrades and friends whose conversation appeals to me. All
the others [Luther is here excepted] have no time for me, or else they
belong to the common herd (‘_vulgus sunt_’).”[1209] Any real friendship
was out of the question at the University, since there were no kindred
spirits; his intimacies were mere “wolves’ friendships,”[1210] to
use an expression of Plato’s. He envies, so he says, those who were
surrounded by studious pupils and could devote all their energies to
study, far from the turmoil of religious controversy.
The letter of censure which he wrote on Luther’s marriage is a strange
mixture of annoyance that this step should be taken at so critical
a juncture, of displeasure at Luther’s thoughtless buffoonery and
frivolous behaviour, and, on the other hand, of forbearance, nay,
admiration, for the man who, in other respects, still appeared to him
so great. “That his friends [Melanchthon and Camerarius] had privately
criticised Luther’s behaviour is proved beyond a doubt from a remark in
the letter on Luther’s marriage.”[1211]
The contrast between their wives was also unfavourable to the
amity existing between Luther and Melanchthon. The daughter of the
Burgomaster of Wittenberg, Catherine Krapp, whom Melanchthon had
married, seems to have been a rather haughty patrician, who was
disposed to look down on Catherine von Bora, whose family, though
aristocratic, had fallen on evil days. In a letter of a friend of
Luther the “tyranny of women” is once referred to as a disturbing
factor, and the context shows that the complaint was drawn forth by
Melanchthon’s wife and not by Bora.[1212]
Melanchthon’s troubles were, however, mostly caused by the differences,
literary and theological, which sprang up between Luther and himself,
and by his experiences and disappointments in Church matters and
questions of conscience.
Luther’s violent and incautious manner of proceeding led him to
surmise, to his great regret, that many had attached themselves to the
cause of the innovations merely from a desire for the freedom of the
flesh, and that the rising against the older Church had let loose a
whole current of base elements.[1213] The virulence with which Luther
attacked everything could, in Melanchthon’s opinion, only tend to
alienate the better sort, i.e. the very people whose help was essential
to the carrying out of any real reform.
As early as 1525 he began to find fault with Luther’s too turbulent
ways. In 1526, on the appearance of Erasmus’s “_Hyperaspistes_,”
the scholar’s incisive and brilliant rejoinder to Luther’s “_De
servo Arbitrio_,” Melanchthon feared some unhappy outbreak, and,
accordingly, he urgently begged the latter to keep silence in the
interests of truth and justice, which he thought to be more likely
on the side of Erasmus. To Camerarius he wrote, on April 11, 1526:
“Oh, that Luther would hold his tongue! I had hoped that advancing
years and his experience of the prevailing evils would have quietened
him, but now I see that he is growing even more violent (‘_subinde
vehementiorem fieri_’) in every struggle into which he enters. This
causes me great pain.”[1214] Erasmus himself he assured later by
letter, that he had “never made any secret of this at Wittenberg,”
i.e. of his displeasure at the tracts Luther had published against the
great Humanist, for one reason “because they were not conducive to the
public welfare.”[1215]
It was inevitable that a certain coolness should spring up between
them, for though Melanchthon was supple enough to be cautious in
his personal dealings with Luther, yet there can be no doubt that
many of his strictures duly reached the ears of his friend. The more
determined Lutherans, such as Aquila and Amsdorf, even formed a party
to thwart his plans.[1216] Melanchthon also complains of opponents
at the Court. Those who had been dissatisfied with his doings at the
Visitation “fanned the flames at Court,” and so much did he suffer
through these intrigues that, according to a later statement of
his, his “life was actually in danger” (“_ut vita mea in discrimen
veniret_”).[1217]
So greatly was he overwhelmed that, in 1527, he even declared he would
rather his son should die than occupy a position of such sore anxiety
as his own.[1218]
In spite of the growing independence displayed by Melanchthon, Luther
continued to show him the greatest consideration and forbearance, and
even to heap literary praise on him, as he did, for instance, in his
Preface to Melanchthon’s very mediocre Exposition of the Epistle to
the Colossians.[1219] He was all the more set on attaching Melanchthon
to himself and his cause by such eulogies, because he dreaded lest his
comrade’s preference for his Humanistic labours should one day deprive
the new faith of his so powerful support.
The command of the Elector was afterwards to send the learned but
timid man to the Diets, notwithstanding that he was quite unsuited for
political labours on the great stage of the world. We know already
what his feelings were at Spires and then again at Augsburg. His most
recent biographer says of the earlier Diet: “The depression induced
in him by the Protest of Spires and the growth of Zwinglianism,
increased still more during his journey home and the first days after
his return; he felt profoundly downcast and looked forward to the
future with the utmost anxiety. From his standpoint he certainly had
good reason for his fear.”[1220] At Augsburg he suffered so much that
Luther wrote to him: “You torment yourself without respite.... It is
not theology, however, which torments you but your philosophy, and
therefore your fears are groundless.”[1221] And later: “I have been
through greater inward torments than I trust you will ever experience,
and such as I would not wish any man, not even our bitterest opponents
there. And yet, amidst such troubles, I have often been cheered up
by the words of a brother, for instance, Pomeranus, yourself, Jonas,
or some other. Hence, why not listen to us, who speak to you, not
according to the flesh or world, but undoubtedly according to God
and the Holy Ghost?” But you prefer to lean on your philosophy; “Led
away by your reason you act according to your own foolishness and
are killing yourself ... whereas this matter is really beyond us and
must be left to God.” Luther felt convinced that his “prayer for
Melanchthon was most certainly being answered.”[1222]
The hope that Melanchthon would get the better of his depression after
the momentous Diet was over was only partially realised.
The conviction that there was no chance of reunion with the existing
Church, which he had reached at Augsburg, pierced him to the depths
of his soul. “In his quality of theologian,” says Kawerau, “the
thought of the Church’s oneness caused him to endure the bitterest
agonies, particularly between 1530 and 1532”; if certain of the
Catholic leaders sought to draw him over to their side, there was
“some justification for their attempts,” to be accounted for by the
impression he had given at Augsburg, viz. of not being quite at home
among the Evangelicals.[1223] What seemed to confirm this impression,
adds Kawerau, was “that Melanchthon in his printed, and still more in
his epistolary communications, repeatedly gave occasion to people to
think that it might be worth while approaching him with fresh proposals
of conciliation.”[1224]
Of the psychological struggle hinted at by Kawerau, through which he,
who, after Luther, was the chief promoter of the innovations, had to
pass, it is possible to gain many a glimpse from contemporary documents.
The wrong idea which he came more and more to cherish amounted to
this: The true doctrine of the Catholic Church of Christ, as against
the _Roman_ Catholic Church of the day, is that to be found “in
the Epistles of the Apostles and in the recognised ecclesiastical
writers.”[1225] Without succeeding in finding any position of real
safety, he insists on the necessity of sharing the “consensus of the
Catholic Church of Christ” and of belonging to the true, ancient and
“sublime ‘_cœtus ecclesiæ_’ over which rules the Son of God.”[1226]
Hence comes what we find in the Wittenberg certificates of Ordination
which he drew up, in which the “_doctrina catholicæ ecclesiæ_,” taken,
of course, in the above uncertain and wholly subjective sense, is
declared to have been accepted by the “_ordinandi_” and to be the
best testimony to their office. In this conception of the Church “we
find the explanation of the great struggle which it cost him, when,
after 1530, he had to face the fact that the schism was real and
definitive.... In his conception, the true faith was thus no longer
the new Lutheran understanding of the Gospel, but rather the ancient
creeds.”[1227]
Cordatus was not so far wrong when he declared, referring to
Melanchthon, that at Wittenberg there were men “learned in languages
who would rather read and listen to a dead Erasmus than a living
Luther.”[1228]
Erasmus himself saw in Melanchthon’s exposition of Romans and in
the dedication of the same which the author privately sent him on
October 25, 1532, a “clear corroboration of the suspicion that he had
come to dislike his own party” (“_se suorum pigere_”).[1229] In the
aforesaid dedication Melanchthon had complained, as he often did, of
the religious “controversies and quarrels” which were quite repugnant
to him: “As neither side cares for moderation, both have refused to
listen to us.” These and such-like admissions “caused Erasmus to think
that he was desirous of forsaking the evangelical camp.”[1230] In the
very year of Erasmus’s death he wrote to him: “I cordially agree with
you on most of the questions under discussion.”[1231] The fondness
of the Wittenbergers for the crude and paradoxical, so he adds,
discreetly veiling his meaning in Greek, failed entirely to appeal
to him; he was anxious to find “better-sounding” formulæ in which to
embody doctrine, but here he was faced by “danger.” He bad reached an
age when lie had learnt to treat questions of faith more gingerly than
of yore.[1232] “Thus, in the presence of Erasmus, he here repudiates
the Melanchthon of the early years of the Reformation.”[1233]
At Wittenberg there was then a rumour that Melanchthon intended
to migrate elsewhere, because he no longer agreed with Luther and
his set.[1234] That such was actually his intention has since been
confirmed.
Only in 1900 was a letter unearthed—written by Melanchthon in
this critical period (1532), to Andreas Cricius, Catholic bishop
of Plozk, and an ardent Humanist—in which he deplores in touching
language the “unhappy fate” which had embroiled him in the religious
“quarrels.”[1235] In the beginning he had taken part in the movement
started by Luther under the impression that “certain points connected
with piety would be emphasised, and this had, all along, been his
object”; his efforts had ever been to “moderate” and to “put an end
to controversy”; he also exerted himself “to vindicate the importance
of the Church’s constitution.”[1236] He expresses his readiness to
accept a post of professor which the Bishop might see fit to offer,
in which he might find a refuge from the storms at Wittenberg: “If
you will point out to me a haven of refuge where I can promote and
advance the learning so dear to us both, and in which I have acquired
some little proficiency, then I will submit to your authority.” In
the same letter, however, he points out that he could never approve
of the “cruelty of the opponents” of the Protestant cause, nor would
the public decision to be expected fall out in accordance with their
ideas; yet neither did he agree with those who wished to destroy
the substance of the Church. Cricius appears to have pointed out to
him, in a letter now no longer extant, that, before he, the Bishop,
could do anything it would be necessary for Melanchthon to sever his
connection with the Evangelicals. This he could not bring himself to
do. “If you have a more feasible proposal to make, then I will accept
it as a Divine call.”[1237]
Shortly before this, on January 31, 1532, Melanchthon had expressed
the wish to Duke Magnus of Mecklenburg, on the occasion of the
re-establishment of the University of Rostock, that a “quiet spot
might be found for him,” lamenting that his time was taken up in
matters “altogether repugnant to my character and the learned labours
I have ever loved.”[1238]
Hence there is no doubt that, at that time, utterly sick of his work
at Luther’s side, he was perfectly ready to change his lodgings. “It
was a joyless life that Melanchthon led at Wittenberg. His admiration
for Luther was indeed not dead, but mutual trust was wanting.”[1239]
In 1536 the repressed discontent of the ultra-Lutherans broke out into
open persecution of Melanchthon. At the head of his assailants was
Conrad Cordatus, who had sniffed heresy in the stress Melanchthon laid
on the will and on man’s co-operation in the work of Justification;
his first step was to begin a controversy with Cruciger, Melanchthon’s
friend.[1240] At about that time, Luther, in his annoyance with
Melanchthon, declared: “I am willing enough to admit Master Philip’s
proficiency in the sciences and in philosophy, nothing more; but,
with God’s help, I shall have to chop off the head of philosophy,
for so it must be.”[1241] Nevertheless, to retain the indispensable
support of so great a scholar and to preserve peace at the University,
Luther preferred to seek a compromise, on the occasion of a solemn
Disputation held on June 1, 1537. At the same time, it is true,
he characterised the thesis on the “necessity of good works for
salvation” as reprehensible and misleading.[1242]
Further difficulties were raised in 1537 by Pastor Jacob Schenk, who
would have it that Melanchthon had made treasonable concessions in
the interests of the Catholics in the matter of the giving of the
chalice. This strained still further his relations with Luther, who
had already long been dimly suspicious of Melanchthon’s Zwinglian
leanings concerning the Supper. The Elector, who was also vexed,
consulted Luther privately concerning Melanchthon; Luther, however,
again expressed his regard for him, and deprecated his “being driven
from the University,” adding, nevertheless, that, should he seek to
assert his opinion on the Supper, then “God’s truth would have to be
put first.”[1243]
The intervention of the Elector in this case, and, generally, the
interference of the great Lords in ecclesiastical affairs—which
frequently marred his plans for conciliation—embittered him more and
more as years passed.
He was perfectly aware that the influential patrons of the innovations
were animated by mere egoism, avarice and lust for power. “The rulers
have martyred me so long,” he once declared, “that I have no wish to
go on living amid such suffering.”[1244]
Yet Melanchthon’s own inclination was more and more in the direction
of leaving ecclesiastical affairs to the secular authorities. In
his practice he abandoned the idea of an invisible Church even more
completely than did Luther. The rigid doctrinal system for which he
came to stand in the interests of the pure preaching of the faith, the
duty which he assigned to the State of seeing that the proclamation of
the Gospel conformed to the standard of the Augsburg Confession, and
finally the countenance he gave to the persecution of sectarians by the
State, and to State regulation of the Church, all this showed that he
was anxious to make of the Church a mere department of the State.[1245]
The Princes, as principal members of the Church, must, according to
him, see “that errors are removed and consciences comforted”; above all
they were of course to assist in “checking the encroachments of the
Popes.”[1246] “To us at the present day it appears strange—though at
the time of the Reformation this was not felt at all—that Melanchthon,
in the Article of the Augsburg Confession concerning priestly marriage,
should have [in the ‘_Variata_’] made the appeal to the Emperor so
comprehensive that the ecclesiastical privileges of the Princes
practically became an article of faith.”[1247]
It also displeased him greatly that Luther in his writings should so
frequently employ vile and abusive epithets when speaking of great
persons. He was loath to see the Catholic Princes thus vilified,
particularly when, as in the case of Albert, Elector of Mayence, he had
hopes of their assistance. On June 16, 1538, Luther read aloud from the
pulpit, and afterwards published in print, a statement of “frightful
violence” against this Prince, moved thereto, as it would appear, by
the respectful manner in which the Archbishop had been treated by
Melanchthon.[1248] The latter made no secret of his entire disapproval,
and it is to be hoped that others at Wittenberg shared his opinion of
this document in which Luther speaks of the German Prince as a false
and perjured man, town-clerk and merd-bishop of Halle.[1249]
The fact is, however, that it was in many instances Melanchthon’s
own pusillanimity and too great deference to the Protestant Princes
which caused him to sanction things which afterwards he regretted. For
instance, we hear him complaining, when alluding to the cruelty of
Henry VIII. of England, of the “terrible wounds” inflicted on him by a
“tyrant.” The “tyrant” to whom he here refers was the bigamist, Philip
of Hesse. Melanchthon had been too compliant in the case of both these
sovereigns. When Henry VIII., who had fallen out with his spouse, made
overtures to the Wittenbergers, it was Melanchthon, who, in view of the
king’s desire to contract a fresh marriage, suggested he might take a
second wife. Concerning Philip of Hesse’s bigamy he had at the outset
had scruples, but he set them aside from the following motive which he
himself alleged not long after: “For Philip threatened to apostatise
unless we should assist him.”[1250] His conscience had reason enough
to complain of the “terrible wounds” inflicted upon it by this tyrant,
but for this Melanchthon himself was answerable. He even assisted
personally at the marriage of the second wife, though, possibly, his
presence was secured by means of a stratagem. When later, he, even more
than his friends, was troubled with remorse concerning his part in the
business—especially when the Landgrave, wilfully and “tyrannically,”
threatened the theologians with the publication of their permission—he
fell a prey to a deadly sickness, due primarily to the depth of his
grief and shame. Luther hastened to Weimar where he lay and, in spite
of his own depression, by the brave face he put on, and also by his
loving care, was able to console the stricken man so that he ultimately
recovered. “Martin,” so Melanchthon gratefully declared, “saved me from
the jaws of death.”[1251]
By Philip of Hesse, Melanchthon had once before been taken to task
over a falsehood of his. It had fallen to Melanchthon to draw up a
memorandum, dispatched on September 1, 1538, by the Elector Johann
Frederick and the Landgrave Philip, conjointly, to King Henry VIII.
of England. In the draft, which was submitted to both Princes, he
asserted, contrary to the real state of the case, that, in Germany,
there were no Anabaptists “in those districts where the pure doctrine
of the Gospel is preached,” though they were to be found “where
this doctrine is not preached”; this he wrote though he himself had
assisted Luther previously in drawing up memoranda for localities in
the immediate vicinity of Wittenberg, directed against the Anabaptists
established there in the very bosom of the new Church. The Landgrave
refused to agree to such a misrepresentation, even for the sake
of predisposing King Henry for Lutheranism. He candidly informed
the Elector that he did not agree with this passage, “for there
are Anabaptists in those parts of Germany where the pure Gospel is
preached just as much as in those where it is not rightly preached.”
In consequence the passage in question was left out, merely a general
reference to the existence of Anabaptists in Germany being allowed to
remain.[1252]
The following example likewise shows how Melanchthon’s want of
uprightness and firmness contributed to raise difficulties and
unpleasantness with those in power. Johann Frederick of Saxony
seized upon the bishopric of Naumburg-Zeitz, and, in spite of the
Emperor’s warning, caused Amsdorf to be “consecrated” its bishop. The
Wittenbergers, including Melanchthon, had given their sanction to this
step. Afterwards, however, the latter was overwhelmed with scruples.
“Tyranny has increased more and more at the Courts,” exclaimed
Melanchthon.—“There is no doubt that his sense of responsibility in
a proceeding, which he had been driven to sanction against his better
judgment, depressed him.” He trembled at the thought that “the matter
might well lead to warlike entanglements, and that the Emperor would
resent as an insult and never forget this violent seizure of the
highest spiritual principalities.”[1253]
Here we shall only hint at Melanchthon’s attitude—again characterised
by weakness and indecision—at the time of the Interim controversy.
He himself, from motives of policy and out of consideration for the
interests of the Court, had lent a hand in the bringing about of the
Leipzig Interim. The “real” Lutherans (“_Gnesio-Lutherans_”) saw in
this an alliance with the Popish abomination. The “temporising policy
of the Interim” in which he “became entangled,” remarks Carl Sell,
“called forth the righteous anger of all honest German Protestants.”
“Melanchthon saved his life’s work only at the cost of the agony
of the last thirteen years of his life ... a real martyr—albeit a
tragically guilty one—to a cause.”[1254] “The whole struggle of
‘Gnesio-Lutheranism’ with ‘Philippism’ consisted in employing against
Melanchthon the very weapon of which Melanchthon himself had made use,”
viz. the “confusion of theological opinions with the Divine data which
these opinions purported to represent.”[1255]
* * * * *
A redeeming feature in the life of this unhappy man, upon which one
is glad to dwell after what has gone before, was his strong sense of
right and wrong. In spite of all his weakness, his conscience was
highly sensitive. Thus he himself supplies in many cases the moral
appreciation of his actions in his outspoken statements and frank
confessions to some trusted friend, for whom his words were also
intended to serve as a guide.
To his friends he was in the habit of giving advice on their behaviour,
couching such advice in the language of the scholar. Nor was he jesting
when he declared that such good counsel was intended in the first
instance for himself; in practice, however, the deed fell short of the
will. So excellent was his theory that many of his aphorisms, in their
short, classical form, became permanent principles of morality. Their
influence was on a par with that of his pedagogical writings, which
long held sway in the history of education.
His friends could count not only on the ethical guidance of the
philosopher and Humanist, but even on his ready assistance in matters
of all sorts. It was not in his nature to refuse his sympathy to
anyone, and, to the students, who gladly sought his assistance, he was
unable to say no.
Another valuable quality was that talent for making peace, of which
he repeatedly made use in the interests of his co-religionists.
His conversation and bearing were exceedingly courteous. Erasmus,
for instance, speaks of his “irresistible charm” (“_gratia quædam
fatalis_”). In a letter of 1531 Erasmus says: “In addition to his
excellent education and rare eloquence, he possesses an irresistible
charm, due more to ‘_genius_’ than to ‘_ingenium_.’ For this reason he
stands in high esteem with noble minds, and, even amongst his enemies,
there is not one who cordially hates him.”[1256] At the time of the
Interim controversy the agents of the Duke of Saxony were desirous
that the Catholic party should find men of real moderation and culture
to negotiate with Melanchthon and the other leaders of the new faith.
They were particularly anxious that Claudius Jaius, the Jesuit, should
repair to Saxony for this purpose. Peter Canisius, apprised of this,
wrote, on April 30, 1551, to Ignatius his superior, that these people
were sure from experience that Jaius, with the modesty he owed to his
culture, would do more good than the most violent controversies.[1257]
Before the world Melanchthon was careful to hide the growing dissension
between himself and Luther.
Thus, writing on June 22, 1537, to Veit Dietrich, he says, alluding to
the quarrel commenced by Cordatus, that he was working for peace at
Wittenberg University. “Nor does Luther appear to be badly disposed
towards us”; “no hatred exists, and should there be any it will
presently break out”; for his own part he intends to be patient, “even
should it come to blows [’_plaga_’].”[1258]
Even Luther’s outbursts of anger were explained away by his more supple
comrade, who exhorts his friends to possess their souls in patience
and to conceal such faults from the eyes of the world. The “dreadful
man,” he writes to Bucer—applying to Luther the Homeric title [Greek:
deinos]—“often gets these boisterous fits. More is gained by ignoring
them than by open contradiction. Let us therefore make use of the
philosophy in which we both have been initiated, cover our wounds, and
exhort others too to do the same.” Luther, owing to his combativeness,
was not to be depended on, and the sad part of it is that “our little
Churches are tossed about with neither sail nor sober pilot”; for his
part he feared victory as much as war; he was opposed to war in the
cause of the Evangel because in the confusion the Court officials and
the great ones of the Protestant party, the “Centaurs,” would assuredly
stretch out greedy hands to grasp the rights and possessions of the
Church.[1259]
Melanchthon was at that time in a certain sense the “one who, thanks
to his moderation, kept everything together at Wittenberg. This is
expressly stated by Cruciger.”[1260] For this his endless patience,
what he himself terms his “servile spirit,”[1261] was to some
extent accountable. Yet his Humanism, and the equanimity, calmness
and moderation he owed to it, doubtless served the peacemaker in
good stead. To all, whether of his own party or of the opposite, he
was wont to declare his abhorrence of the “_democratia aut tyrannis
indoctorum_.”[1262] Owing to such personal qualities of Melanchthon’s,
Cochlæus himself, in a letter to his friend Dantiscus, in which he
attacks Melanchthon, admits that he was “nevertheless at heart very
fond of him.”[1263]